Two scoops, please
by AmandaFriend
Summary: Post "Do in the Don't" story of B&B. C'mon, you heard 'em- "It'll get sticky..."


**Two scoops, please**

**A/N:** Post "The Don't in the Do" where ice cream melts and becomes sticky. Imagination is a wonderful thing.

Don't own Bones and don't mean to trespass on anyone's rights, lefts or middles.

oOo

"So, what do you think?"

He was holding Christine and looking at her mother in a way that a man should not look at the mother of his daughter.

No. This was exactly the way a man looked at a woman before he turned her into a mother of a daughter.

No. Scratch that. Or maybe not. He was looking at his partner in the negligee he'd bought her and all rational thought had fled.

"Bones, uh, maybe I need to put her down before you model that for me."

She was smiling, part wonder, part sexy and part. . . .

Changed, fed and now just about but not quite asleep, Christine was the one thing between him grappling Brennan to the bed and removing each stitch of clothing from her one undergarment at a time.

And he was caught between gently rocking their daughter to sleep and letting Brennan maybe not so gently rock his world.

And he got it.

He finally got it.

"We haven't really, you know."

"Had sex."

There she was standing in that dark blue set—bralette, negligee and tonga, tenga, oh, whatever the hell it was, her belly still gently round from the pregnancy and he remembered a time when she was still early in the pregnancy and damned sexy and horny as all hell because of the hormones were running wild.

"Yeah," he said, the vowels low and wondrous. "Had sex."

"I like it, Booth."

"It fits."

"Mostly."

Her breasts, still heavy, overflowed the bra a bit and the panty-thingies seemed a tad loose as she ran a finger inside the band to demonstrate their fit.

"Yeah."

Again, the vowels were almost a prayer, a reverent acknowledgement that heaven did exist here on earth if one only looked in the right places.

"Bones, I got to. . . ."

He indicated the baby in his arms, still holding onto wakefulness with both fists and both eyes blinking and wide.

"Do you want me to try?"

"No."

He wanted to look. And she knew.

She was looking back, knowing and sure and definitely, looking back.

"The ice cream is melting."

He sighed.

"Hey, you," he cooed to the child in his arms, "mommy and I need our sleep as well."

"I really wasn't thinking about sleep, Booth."

That was definitely NOT the look of innocence that meant a snack of ice cream and a nice night of sleep.

Standing there, her pale skin daring him against the dark of the lingerie to reveal more, to seek the treasures there.

"Neither was I, Bones. I wasn't thinking about sleep."

oOo

He let his hand slide across her belly and felt the softness still there. And he marked its journey with a kiss.

"I liked my lingerie, Booth," she cooed under his hand.

"I liked it, too."

He'd peeled it from her reverently, revealed the flesh beneath with a practiced touch, understood that it wasn't a self-consciousness about the extra weight that had spurred her earlier comments, just the awkwardness of trying to fit into her clothes.

"Maybe you should just go clothes shopping.

He drew himself up on an elbow and looked at her to gauge her reaction. He was trying to understand.

"That's what Angela suggested."

"You look incredible."

He meant it. She was carrying the extra weight in areas that gave her a softer look and he didn't mind. Her curves were genuine and partly of his making and somehow that made her all the more sexy and desirable.

Her flesh was flushed with sex, her lips bruised with kisses, her eyes dark and round.

And he wanted her again.

He checked the monitor, saw her hand reaching toward him and he couldn't think of anything that could stop them. Not the ice cream melting in the carton on the bedside table, not the baby slumbering next door, not the world outside.

He pulled her toward him, his intentions clear, the noises she made ones of utter approval.

God, he loved her.

oOo

He found her in the baby's room a little before 5 a.m., the baby at her breast, a look of pure contentment on her face.

"She didn't make it through the night, did she?"

It was still early, still a challenge to fit their schedules around hers and hers around theirs but they were making a go of it.

They were making a go of it all.

"I didn't want to wake you, Booth." She shifted the child from one breast to the other, the opening in her robe framing the breasts that, just hours before, were his.

He couldn't think of this as sharing—just something mysterious in the breasts' beauty and function. Maternal and sexual.

Christine's eyes were fluttering shut in the dim light and he drew his fingers along her cheek, her warmth and softness as much a part of the mystery of his life as it was a blessing.

"Do you need anything?"

He'd long ago learned how to read Temperance Brennan's many looks, but her simple shake of her head was easy to comprehend.

And in so many ways, she was an open book that had been so long closed that she was still so much like a newborn, revealing something new to him every day.

"We have any more ice cream?"

Her look shifted from Christine to him, and in her smile, a bit mischievous, a bit knowing was the Temperance Brennan that was his.

And his alone.

But never quite his.

"I think we'll need to add it to the grocery list." She seemed to be enraptured by the tiny being in her arms. "And diapers."

Christine's eyes showed she'd lost the battle for wakefulness and Brennan gently lowered her from her breast.

"Let me."

With practiced ease, he took his daughter from her arms and rocked her gently, the only indication that she knew a shift had occurred was in the fluttering of her eyes and a tiny yawn.

Then sleep won.

But he continued to hold and rock her, watching as Brennan stood, adjusting the robe slightly, walking to the crib and pulling the liner from the mattress to replace it with another.

A little more than a year ago he had given up any hope of having something like this. He'd broken with Hannah and was holding Brennan at arm's length, but she had refused to stay there.

The ineffable pull that had somehow brought them twice to the brink of ending their partnership now held them together as a couple.

"If you want to put her down, Booth, the mattress is prepared."

She could still make it sound like they were readying the bed for surgery, but there was love within her words and within her actions.

"Hey, she's wearing the onesie I got her."

Another woman might complain about the tiny hockey player pattern on her daughter's clothes, but Brennan saw the beauty in the connection and had dressed her in the onesie he'd picked out.

"As you've pointed out, hockey isn't just a sport for males," Bones said. "Besides, her father has good taste in clothing. He knows how to pick the right thing."

He beamed. Hell, he couldn't help but beam.

"So I did good for Mommy," he whispered to his daughter, setting her down in the crib. "And for you."

"Well." He'd perfected the soft landing; Christine still clung to sleep.

"Well?"

"The proper term is well. You did well for me."

"I chose well," he reminded her, pulling her into arms.

"Yes, you did."

"And it was good," he waggled his eyebrows. "Very good."

They sealed their agreement with a kiss and he began to lead her from the nursery toward their room.

"I haven't put my present back on, Booth," she confided. "Do you want me to model it, again?"

"Naw," he said. "Why gild the lily?"


End file.
